


let me hear you say you want it all

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lingerie, black silk and sheer lacework, sits untouched in her underwear drawer. </p>
<p>Hawke doesn’t really think about it. He likes Sienna every which way – in jeans, in dresses, in nothing, in his shirt, in her workout clothes that stretch and bend with her curves and angles. Rarely does he think about the trappings of their clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me hear you say you want it all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts), [theepiccek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theepiccek/gifts), [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts).



> This is Jordan's fault. 
> 
> Therefore, it is for her.

*

The lingerie, black silk and sheer lacework, sits untouched in her underwear drawer. 

Hawke doesn’t really think about it. He likes Sienna every which way – in jeans, in dresses, in nothing, in his shirt, in her workout clothes that stretch and bend with her curves and angles. Rarely does he think about the trappings of their clothes. Really, their mating ceremony was the first time since the forging of their relationship that he had an opinion on her clothes. 

(Truth be told, he’s more interested in what she’s _not_ wearing, because the edge is still not off. He thinks it might take eternity; he’s okay with that.)

That Sienna doesn’t wear the lingerie isn’t a thing he notices. For one thing, he has a Councilor to eliminate in Ming LeBon. For another, he has Kaleb Krychek taking over the Net, and there’s no way he isn’t fostering a relationship with him, no matter how cold he seems. Judd has said enough on the subject of Krychek for Hawke to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. Between keeping tabs on the reforming of the Net, strategizing on how to cleanly murder the monster under Sienna’s bed, and his normal alpha duties, he doesn’t _think_ about Sienna’s underwear. He can sense her through the bond always, senses her frustration, her joy, her anxiety, her pleasure – and what he senses is contentment. Both he and his wolf are keeping an eye on her – he knows as well as her blood family how much she can suppress and hide her hurts. But for now, she seems content. It’s incredibly reassuring and settling; they are shifting into the life they will create together, as partners. It’s the most comfortable in his own skin he’s felt in what feels like decades. 

One early morning, though, when he has a rare open stretch of time, he lays in bed with his arms folded behind his head, watching her as she moves about their bedroom. She is comfortable and easy in their quarters, having spent time between her soldier rotations and her shifts with the other groups in the den to make their space a true home. It’s warmer now, full of throw pillows and framed photographs and small touches all her own. 

(He grumbled at first, just to seem grumpy; truthfully, it feels more like home now that she’s made her mark.)

Now, he opens his eyes just in slits and watches her as she folds laundry, her hands always busy. Sienna doesn’t know how to stop moving, unless seduced into it; he likes convincing her to stay still for a long time. Preferably naked, but hey. He’ll take it clothed, too. 

The lingerie makes an appearance as she shifts piles of underwear and bras. She’s got a system for everything. Her efficiency is sometimes overwhelming. She sets it on top of the dresser and doesn’t spare it a glance. 

“Those are cute,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. His eyes trace over the black and lace, imagining it against the sheen of her hair, her smooth olive skin that flushes so easily under his mouth and hands. Under his skin, his wolf perks to attention. 

She glances at him, those dark eyes even and beautiful in the simulated morning light. “Cute?” she repeats. 

He nods at the lace lingering on the flat dark wood dresser. “Those.”

“Oh,” she says with a shrug. “They were a gift.”

“From who?” he asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Evie. I told you,” she says, rolling her eyes. There is only affection in her voice and through the bond though, and so he doesn’t come off the bed and wrap her in his arms to soothe her. 

“Recently?”

She sighs and puts down the t-shirts of his she is folding. She has a system that he is barely beginning to grasp, so he lets her have the laundry to put away. The kitchen though is all his, when they want to cook for themselves. “It was a mating gift, Hawke. I told you about them.”

He blinks, raking his brain. His wolf snarls a little, as if to say _I remember. Why don’t you?_. 

“Right,” he says slowly. 

Shaking her head, she throws a t-shirt at him, hitting him askance in the face. A little growl rumbles from his chest. “You’re such a man,” she says with a laugh. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them! How am I supposed to remember?” he says crossly, shifting up on his elbows to watch her more carefully. 

“Why would I wear them if you’re just going to tear them off of me?” she asks in that cool way of hers, though he watches as the tops of her cheeks flush. He breathes in deep, smelling the spice and sweet of her, the shift of her focus from tasks to arousal, clean in the air. 

He cocks an eyebrow, rising to his knees on the bed. “That sounds like an invitation,” he says, voice low in his chest. 

Wetting her lips, she sets her shirts aside. “I’m folding laundry.”

“You can take a break,” he murmurs, shifting over to reach for her. The sheets fall away, leaving him unabashedly naked to her eyes. 

The flush crawls over her skin. Her mouth twitches into a smile. “You’re a bad influence.”

His smile changes, curls into a smirk. “I’m the best influence, baby.”

He curls a hand around hers and tugs. She comes with a laugh and white-sparking eyes, crawling all over him as they tumble to the bed. It’s lazy and hot, his hands stripping her of her simple cotton pajamas, his claws sliding out to snip away her panties as his mouth sinks between her thighs. There’s nothing he likes more than making her come with his tongue and teeth, gripping her thighs to hold her close until he is nothing but a part of her, until her hands are tangled in the thick slide of his hair and she is nothing but sighs and moans. When she drags her nails over his shoulder blades and gasps out his name, he rises and sinks into her, her thigh hooked around his hip, her fingers kneading into his chest and abdomen. He takes her slow, watching the light dappled over her skin as it flushes and shimmers, meeting her power-sparkling eyes as she tightens around him, as her lips form his name and her nails sink into thick muscle to claim him. 

After, he spoons her in front of him, sweaty and fully awake. She drags her fingers over his forearm, mapping the freckles and the thick hair there, the sinews of his wrist. She is fascinated by his body, by the freedom to touch it. He never will deny her anything. 

A chuckle starts low in her belly, reverberating through the bond. He smiles against the curve of her shoulder. “What?”

She sighs and tips her head back. “And you wonder why I never wear nice underwear,” she murmurs, dark eyes hot and wicked as she reaches up for a kiss. 

It isn’t until hours later, alone in his office awaiting Nell and Riley, that the words come back to linger. 

*

When Hawke steps into Indigo’s open office two weeks later, in search of counsel concerning the rising female soldiers, he smiles at the sight of both his lieutenant and Evie, her younger sister. 

“The Riviere women are plotting, I see,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. 

Indigo wrinkles her nose and throws a cube of post-its at him, which he ducks easily. Evie, slender and pretty in a delicate way, glances up to meet his eyes briefly before settling back in her chair across from her sister. The girl, a true submissive, has a spine of steel; one only needs to see her choice of Tai and their flourishing relationship to see that. Plus, this is his mate’s best friend; she is practically family, though the hierarchy remains unchanged. 

“Hi, Evie,” he says, stepping into the office. His keen gaze takes note of the little shelf of knickknacks and tiny stuffed toys behind Indigo. Drew clearly doesn’t know when to stop, and Indigo clearly likes it. It’s cute, in an off-putting way. 

Though, he ruined two baking pans trying to make marble cake with Sienna two night ago, so maybe he shouldn’t be one to judge. 

“Hello,” Evie says, even and cool. 

Cool. 

His wolf perks up. “What’s going on?”

“We’re discussing birthday gifts for Sienna,” Indigo says, fixing her preternaturally blue gaze on him. 

“It’s a month away,” he says, at ease. He’s got ideas, and time. 

“Well, the mating gifts didn’t work out, so we’re trying to plan ahead,” Evie says lightly, not looking at Hawke.

Immediately, he raises his eyebrows. “What mating gifts?”

Indigo and Evie share a look, and he grimaces. “Jesus, not the – “

“The lingerie, yes,” Evie says quietly, meeting his eyes for a moment. 

It’s a message. She’s good at these, Evie is, he thinks wryly as he blinks at her. Her wolf is there, lurking, understanding of rank but unafraid. He thinks of the night at Riley and Mercy’s cabin all those weeks ago, of the implicit wording in Evie’s conversation with Sienna. However much it was to tease, it was still a message. 

He frowns for a moment, glancing at Indigo. “She liked it, I thought,” he says slowly, trying to parse out the meaning. 

Evie glances at him, then back at her sister, who rolls her eyes. “You’re the dumbest man alive sometimes, I swear to god,” Indigo mutters. 

“That’s not fucking helpful right now,” he retorts. 

“She wants to wear it, but she doesn’t – “ Evie stops, a flush rising on her cheeks. “She hasn’t had a lot of pretty, frivolous things. It’s important to her. And apparently – “

“All right, all right,” he mutters, cut to the quick. He rubs a hand through his hair, frowning deeply. Why didn’t Sienna just _say_ something? The bond is sure and true, a hum under his skin and below his ribs that he keeps close to him always. 

But she had said – said _Why would I wear them if you’re just going to tear them off of me?_ , and he’s sunk, feeling like a real jackass. Bristling under his skin, his wolf peels back his lips and snarls. 

“Think you can control yourself there, Your Alphaness?” Indigo drawls. 

“You’re hilarious,” he says flatly, glancing at Evie. 

Taking the hint, Evie rises and shifts around the desk to kiss her sister’s cheek. “Thank you,” she says as she passes Hawke. 

He reaches out and touches her cheek, a light caress of his knuckles. “Thank you,” he replies. 

She gives him one of her warm, sincere smiles, and slips out of the office. He is again thankful that his mate has friends like Evie, willing to stand up to anyone – their alpha included – to ensure her wellbeing. 

“I just love it when you realize how silly you are,” Indigo says, voice all amusement. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles. 

*

It takes a week to put all the plans in place, and to arrange the necessary time away from the den. But on a quiet sunny Saturday, Hawke and Sienna slip away to their cabin for forty-eight hours of peace and solitude, unless needed in an emergency. 

“What is this all about?” she asks over the slow drawl and hum of her favorite country album. 

He takes her hand in his and brings it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “It’s about spending time with my girl.”

She flushes with pleasure, eyes brightening with gold sparks against the midnight velvet. “You spend quite a bit of time with me, you know.”

He flicks his gaze back to the familiar route through the trees, maneuvering the SUV through a dense patch of wood. He knows the way like the back of his hand, but with her in the car, he will take no chances. 

“Uninterrupted alone time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the shaking of her head. “Sometimes I still have trouble figuring you out.”

Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he grins a little. “Keeping the mystery alive, baby.”

She laughs and settles back in her seat, her fingers twining with his as she looks out the window into the thick Sierra woods. He can feel her utterly relaxed and happy, safe in his company. His stomach knots and he swallows past a sudden lump in his throat, keeping his focus on the road ahead. The simplest things she takes joy from, because she _can_ ; of course she wouldn’t make a fuss about something frivolous like lingerie. Her life for over eighteen years was one of continual struggle and control, where the simplest touch from her mother unleashed pain. Sienna is happy because she is safe and loved and supported; she would never think to ask for more. 

It makes him a little sick inside, to think that he has taken all that for granted. 

He sets the car down and shuts off the engine right outside the cabin, but makes no move to exit the car. She glances at him, head tilted curiously. 

“It occurs to me,” he says after a moment, “that I haven’t been very thoughtful lately.”

She blinks. The bond reverberates with her surprise. “Hawke, that makes no sense.”

Before he can say a word, she’s rambling in a way he’s never heard before. It’s endearing and terrifying. 

“I’m happy – god, we bake together. You baked cookies with me. I never – I didn’t think – It is absurd how happy you make me. You’re frustrating but I – “

He leans in and kisses her to quiet her. Her free hand settles on his chest, slim fingers tangled in the cotton of his t-shirt. 

“I’m frustrating?” he asks with a wry smile when he draws away from her willing mouth. 

She blinks hazy dark eyes at him, a soft smile on her lips. “This can’t be a surprise to you.”

“Guess not,” he says with a laugh. The scent of her envelops him. His wolf wants to roll around it in, curl around her. 

“I have a present for you,” he says after a moment, kissing her once more before he gets out of the car. She is outside and waiting for him when he comes around to the front, face suffused with a happy flush that he can feel through the bond. 

“What is it?” she asks, eager and happy. There are these moments when she looks her age, when he wishes he could give her a childhood. Now, all he can do is give her a full life. It never feels like enough. 

He takes her hand and leads her to the cabin. “I was thinking about what you said about Evie’s mating gift,” he murmurs in her ear. 

Arousal blooms between them, lush in the pine-soaked air. “Hawke – “

He unlocks the front door and nudges her inside. Spread across the plush bed are fifteen sets of lingerie – bras and panties, teddies, a set of garters – in jewel tones of emerald, plum, gold, scarlet, sapphire, satins and lace. He had Sascha help in picking them out, which she did with such enjoyment that it brought interesting ideas of what Lucas might do in his spare time for his mate. The black camisole and panties set from Evie rests in the middle, all lacework over the low v neckline. He likes the feel of it and the look of it, even more after handling it. He thinks he’s going to like peeling it away from her skin very slowly, very much. 

“I thought maybe you should have a chance to be a little frivolous,” he says quietly into her ear, his hands running up and down her arms. He can feel the shivers through her thin sweater. “And that I could learn how to not tear the clothes off of you every chance I get.”

He feels her chest hitch as he curls her close to his front, his mouth kissing wetly along her throat. “I like that you tear the clothes off of me,” she whispers huskily. 

Muffling a groan, he bites at her jaw. “Sure. But sometimes it’s nice to just… look at you. Feel you. Be slow with you. After all, we’ve got time.”

She turns in his arms and cups the back of his head to bring him down for a kiss. Her dark eyes shine wetly in the soft yellow lighting, the cusp of sunset edging across the gleaming wood floors from the windows. 

“I guess we do,” she says softly, a flush high on her cheeks. Her mouth twitches as she smooths her fingers through his thick hair. “You do realize this means no claws.”

“I did figure that out, yeah.”

“You’re going to have to actually take the clothes off of me.”

He grins then, pulling her hips close to his. “I’m actually wondering how much I can do while they’re still on you, baby.”

She flushes, the olive of her skin turning dusky. He likes that he can still make her blush. He likes how much they still have to learn with each other. 

“You have to put one on, though.” He kisses her forehead and turns her, nudging her towards the bed. “So, go on.”

She slants a glance at him over her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

He sits in the overlarge chair by the hearth, smirking. “Wait. Think. Imagine.”

Sienna pushes her hair over her shoulder and shakes her head. “I love you,” she says quietly, reinforcing it with a thrum of affection through the bond. Then, she turns and gathers the lingerie in her hands carefully, as if they are precious jewels, and sways into the bathroom. 

It takes her less than ten minutes. He waits patiently, arousal building hot and heavy in his limbs, feeling her pleasure through the bond with much satisfaction. Finally, the bathroom door slides open and she pokes her head through the opening, her hair falling loose over her bare shoulders, glimmering rubies in the warm light. 

“This is – “ She pauses, blushing. “It’s – “

He remembers something she told him in the darkness of their quarters, of her awkwardness with nudity, of the shame associated with it. Rising, he strips off his t-shirt, leaving him bare-chested and barefoot, his jeans slung low on his hips. 

“I’d take these off too, but – “

“But you have some strange abhorrence to underwear,” she retorts primly, in that Psy tone that drive him nuts. 

He smirks. “Not yours, obviously.”

She laughs, the tension easing from her face. Slowly, she pushes open the door and steps out, revealing herself. 

For a long moment, he can’t breathe. He just watches her. She is lean and toned, her legs shapely, marked with lingering burns and scars from her time with Ming. The black satin gleams against her olive skin, the camisole skimming her curves and stomach. A small strip of skin peeks out from the hem of the camisole to the top of her lace panties, tempting him to lick. Lace edges over the swells of her breasts; he can see the rise and pebbling of her nipple against the satin. She looks fiercely beautiful, her hair strewn about her face and shoulders and chest like some sort of forest nymph, her eyes midnight velvet. All over her skin is flushed, and he can smell her arousal, feel her pleasure – and her shyness. 

“Jesus,” he says after a quiet stretch of a pause. Right under his skin, his wolf sits up and takes long notice, of the sheen of her skin against the fabric. 

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “I feel – I feel pretty,” she says softly. 

He crosses the room and cups her face in his hands, edges her close to his body. His thumbs curve over the rise of her cheeks. The feel of her satin against his bare chest sends a shudder right through him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning down to kiss her. She rests her hands on his chest and shuts her eyes, kissing him happily, openly. He slides his hands over her, over the satin and lace of her, to cup the backs of her thighs and lift her up against him. She wraps her thighs over his hips and bites down at his lip, licks into his mouth. 

“I could get used to this,” she murmurs as he stumbles them back to the bed, settles on his back with her straddling his hips. 

His hands slide through her hair as she rises above him, a soldier in black lace and red lips. Here is his mate, proud and fire-forged and beautiful and his. His gaze follows the cut and line of the lingerie, his cock hardening underneath her. 

“This is pretty,” he murmurs, his fingers smoothing her hair over her satin-covered breasts. She shivers, lips parting. His hands trail over her belly and trace the lace edging her thighs. “Very pretty.”

“See? It’s nice not to tear things,” she says, slightly breathless. 

“You’re mouthy,” he murmurs, cupping between her thighs. His fingers rub at her, damp and hot through the black satin. His heel rubs at her clit and she moans. 

“You like it,” she retorts, voice thick. She leans over him and kisses along the line of his jaw, her teeth sinking against his skin, marking him. “Hawke – “

His free hand cup her breast through the lace. He likes it, likes the warmth and weight of her breast through the fabric. His fingers pluck at her nipple, rub and soothe, and she trembles under his touch, her breath warm and wet against his skin. 

“I like this,” he murmurs, something of a discovery. It’s slow and hot and their clothes are a friction between their skin. The heel of his hand rubs at her clit through the satin and her breath hitches. She drags her mouth over the taut line of his throat and he shifts aside her panties to touch her skin to skin at last. She sighs, a sweet happy sound, and her fingers knead and stroke over his chest, over the rise of his nipple. 

“I like this too,” she whispers. She slides against him, the fabric silky and sinuous against his chest. 

He smiles and turns his head to kiss her cheek, the line of her jaw. Two fingers slide into her and curve, and she moans his name. Her mouth slides over his chest as she rocks her hips into his hand, grinding against his hand. 

Carefully, he turns them so that she lays flushed and stretched out on her back, her thighs spread for him, her arms hooked around his neck. He leans down and kisses her, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip, licking into her mouth as his thumb shifts to circle her clit. His jeans are rough against her bare thighs, her panties catching on the denim, and she makes soft hungry sounds into his mouth, her fingers digging hard into his shoulders. 

His mouth breaks away to sink over her breasts, to tease her peaked nipples through the thin satin. She shudders and cries out, but arches into the touch. Everything is a sensory challenge, the soft give of her flesh, the rough catch of his jeans at her thighs, the slippery slide of her camisole against his chest. The urge to tear and take and search for bare skin is a clawing need, but he swallows it down and stretches a third finger into her, curving in a way he’s learned she likes. He is all teeth and tongue at her breast and slow glancing circles with his thumb at her clit, and soon she is shuddering and moaning his name as she comes under his mouth and hand, flushed and damp and beautiful with her hair dark as rubies strewn across the pillows. 

He pets and caresses her as she rides it out, her hips stuttering into his. Soon, she drags her hands over his chest and finds the button to his jeans. 

“Your restraint is impressive,” she murmurs hoarsely, peeling the jeans from his hips. 

Smirking, he kicks them off and looms over her, naked and gleaming. She blinks up at him with hazy dark eyes, gold sparks flickering. “Again, I’ve got nothing but time for you, baby.”

He slides her panties, soaked and delicious, away from her hips and tosses them aside. He runs a hand over her belly, the satin hot under his touch. “On or off?”

“Off,” she murmurs, lifting her arms in assistance. 

Soon they are skin to skin and he sinks inside of her, her thigh hooked over his hip and her teeth biting at his bottom lip. Her breasts rub against his chest and he feels the start of a low growl in his chest, rumbling. She laughs and kisses him, runs her nails over the line of his spine, digs strong fingers into his ass. As he moves in her, his eyes wide open to watch the changing flush to her cheeks, she licks at his jaw and chin, tasting the sweat of him. She is fire and spice and laughter in his arms, full of a life she wasn’t sure to have just months ago. For a moment, he is overcome with the love he has for her. 

“Hawke,” she breathes, arching her hips to his rhythm. “Come here.”

He kisses her, closing his eyes and licking into her mouth until he can’t breathe, until he is trembling in her arms and coming within her. She wraps her arms around him and holds him too close, their hearts pressed to each other’s, the thumping pulse echoing through their bond. They are never alone, never will be again. She kisses his cheeks, his closed eyelids, his temple, and he sinks into the easy affection, soothing a hand over her sweat-damp skin. 

Later, she pulls his t-shirt on as he watches without shame, settled against the headboard. 

“Thank you for my gifts,” she says as she crawls back into bed. 

He raises his arm and she tucks herself against his side, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “Anything for you, Sienna.”

She tips her head back, regarding him. “You really mean it.”

“Of course I do,” he says, wounded for a moment. 

Sighing, she leans up to kiss him lightly. “So asking for silly things is all right?”

“I have baked with you,” he says wryly. 

Sienna smiles slightly, touching her fingers to his lips. “Whenever I wear those, no claws.”

He heaves an exaggerated sigh, stroking his hand over her thigh. “I guess I can work with that.”

“Compromise,” she teases. 

Hawke looks down at her, compact and tough and beautiful in his arms, and smiles. “Our favorite word.”

Her smile turns wicked, and she shifts to straddle him, her hands braced on his chest. “Maybe not our _favorite_ ,” she whispers, and lowers her mouth to his. 

This time, the claws come out. 

*


End file.
